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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24824290">Tactile Equations</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/apollojusticeforall/pseuds/apollojusticeforall'>apollojusticeforall</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Tactile [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Star Trek: The Original Series</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>M/M, Pining Spock, and the casual intimacy of touch, the inherent romance of the shoulder caress, touch-starved Spock, vulcan hand kink</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-06-20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-06-20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 03:41:04</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>5,407</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24824290</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/apollojusticeforall/pseuds/apollojusticeforall</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Captain James Kirk was a tactile person.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>James T. Kirk/Spock, Spock &amp; Nyota Uhura</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Tactile [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1812097</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>39</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>353</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Tactile Equations</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Captain James Kirk was a tactile person. He preferred the feel of old-fashioned paper books to the screen of his PADD. He admired foreign leaves or flowers by rubbing the petals between his fingers. He could solve any engineering problem as long as he could turn the parts over in his hands and feel how they fit together. When he was a cadet, he fidgeted constantly, always tapping his stylus on his desk or shuffling data cards during lectures. After over a decade of diplomacy training, he learned how to keep his hands still when he talked, but the habit tended to slip through on occasion.</p><p>Captain Kirk was also a people person. He loved meeting new people, and his kind eyes and charming smile could coax even the most tight-lipped individuals into easy conversation. Kirk was a man of few close friends and a vast network of friendly acquaintances, and he showed his affection the same way he mended communications panels—through touch.</p><p>Kirk’s bridge crew was well-accustomed to his ubiquitous physical affection, as they were the ones most exposed to it through the sheer amount of time he spent lounging in the captain’s chair. After over three years together in the black, the veteran bridge crew was quite fond of one another and their captain, and their captain was fond of them.</p><p>He showed it by rubbing Lieutenant Uhura’s shoulders when he greeted her at the start of her shift, sometimes placing a quick kiss on her smooth cheek. She would offer him one of her illustrious smiles when he squeezed her hands, and when they walked to the mess or the rec room together, he would place his hand lightly on the small of her back while they conversed.</p><p>When trouble appeared on the forward viewing screen, he would pace out of his chair and settle a worried hand on Lieutenant Sulu’s arm, or after an exceptionally fine bit of piloting around the latest space terror, he would congratulate the helmsman with a pat on the back or a squeeze of the wrist.</p><p>Ensign Chekov had a reputation as the bridge’s prankster. His tricks were always harmless, but sometimes Kirk would retaliate by prodding the young officer in the ribs or by wiping his freshly dye-coated fingers off on the front of Chekov’s shirt. Whenever Chekov started monologuing about Russia’s many, many technological wonders, Kirk would laugh and pat his cheek or ruffle his hair on the way back to his seat. Chekov always squawked in protest, quickly running his fingers through his mussed locks to rearrange them back into their carefully-crafted poof, but his cheeks were always tinged pink, and he gave in to a self-satisfied smile when he thought no one was looking.</p><p>The captain spent his free time in a variety of ways—circling the decks, sparing in the gymnasium, or curled up in his quarters with one of his treasured books—but he seemed to spend much of his time in Lieutenant Commander Scott’s company. When Scott wasn’t tending to his beloved engines, he and the captain would sit together in the officer’s mess or in Scott’s quarters with a fine glass of Scotch and swap fast stories of their earliest extraterrestrial adventures or their distant academy days. They would laugh so hard that Kirk would throw an arm around Scott’s shoulders and lean into his side to catch his breath, usually responding with a witty retort that had the Chief Engineer howling and swaying into Kirk, as the two grabbed each other to try and maintain their balance.</p><p>The other significant portion of the captain’s time was spent in sickbay. Not usually because he was injured, but rather because he enjoyed bothering the ship’s Chief Medical Officer. He seemed to give particular attention to his oldest friend in the realm of physical contact, always sliding an arm across the doctor’s shoulders, grabbing his wrists or arms, leaning against him whenever they stood near each other. At any time save for the middle of critical surgery or a shipwide crisis, Kirk would wander behind him and wrap his arms around his torso, or rest his chin on the doctor’s shoulder and peer over at whatever he was working on. If he felt particularly cheeky, he would place a quick kiss across McCoy’s cheek or nose and laugh at the doctor’s resulting scowl. Whenever the captain had an especially taxing day, he would stumble down to sickbay and lean his forehead into McCoy’s chest with a groan before even saying hello. Dr. McCoy, for all his grumping and grousing, never seemed bothered by Kirk’s near-constant desire to touch him, and he would often rub Kirk’s back or squeeze his arms before offering him an ear to his troubles and a glass of brandy.</p><p>Of course, the captain’s brand of tactile communication was not reserved only for those in his inner circle. He couldn’t walk down any corridor in the <em>Enterprise</em> without shaking a hand or patting a back or stopping a crewmember with a touch to the arm to ask how their family was doing. Even the newest recruits were always greeted by name with a gripping handshake or a clap on the shoulder. Sometimes, those who had recently transferred to the <em>Enterprise</em> would glare suspiciously or shrink away when he touched them. The captain would then apologize, tuck his hands behind his back, and continue their conversation without further mention of the incident. After a few weeks on the <em>Enterprise</em> though, most crewmembers realized his benevolent mannerisms and later welcomed his handshakes or congratulatory pats. He never touched anyone who looked even slightly uncomfortable around him.</p><p>For that reason, Kirk didn’t initiate physical contact with strangers as often as he did with his crew. If one watched his interactions, one could easily tell how familiar he was with a person by how often he touched them, whether that came in the form of a handshake, a shoulder squeeze, or a hug.</p><p>Anyone who had heard the name Jim Kirk had also heard the rumors of his romantic and sexual history. How much of those rumors were true, no one was able to determine, because as soon as they met him, they often found themselves too entranced by his bright hazel eyes and warm hand on their shoulder to ask. If someone ever were bold enough to ask him about the circulating rumors, he would laugh and tell them that he considered himself an appreciator of physical beauty, regardless of its form.</p><p>Many who met him were instantly attracted to his golden hair, broad chest, and starlit smile, and they could always tell when he returned the interest. After all, his devotion to physical sensation had made him a master of the use of touch in seduction. His signature moves were a gentle kiss to the back of a hand, or a caress up the shoulders with just the right pressure to convey both the nature and intensity of his interest. When he kissed someone, he would wrap his arms fully around their neck and thread his fingers softly through their hair, pulling their bodies so close together that they touched fully and completely.</p><p>* * *</p><p>The captain never touched Spock.</p><p>That statement is inaccurate. He did occasionally touch Spock, but he did so at an average frequency of 68.28% less than he touched others with whom he spent a significant amount of time. He sought out Spock’s company plenty, but he refrained from touching his First Officer’s arms the way he would with another familiar companion. When they walked to the mess or the lift together, he kept a distance of approximately 17.3 centimeters further between them than he would with others.</p><p>However, there were times when the captain would forget himself. The ship would shake from the return fire of an enemy vessel, throwing the crew out of their seats and into railings, and Kirk would reach out a hand to help Spock stand. Or Spock would become injured from the weapon of an over-enthusiastic planet native, and Kirk would grab Spock’s shoulder, eyes tight with worry as he examined the wound. Or they would be exploring a less-developed world, and Kirk would tug on Spock’s wrist to guide him out of sight of unfamiliar eyes. Or Spock would propose the solution to the latest mysterious ship malfunction, and Kirk’s face would brighten in a smile, and as he praised him, he would grip Spock’s elbow.</p><p>97.88% of these encounters ended the same. After initiating physical contact in his excited or frantic state, he would recover and promptly let go of Spock’s body. He would then follow with a quick apology, a nervous clasp of his hands behind his back, and continue with commentary appropriate to the situation.</p><p>The other 2.12% of these encounters were what interested Spock the most. He found it difficult to formulate what about these 2.12% interested him, though. Sometimes, when the captain placed a hand on his arm after a harrowing escape on a hostile planet, or after winning one of their recreational chess matches, his hand would linger longer than necessary. Or sometimes he would pat Spock’s shoulder, and then his hand would return to his side, but his bright eyes remained fixated on Spock’s face after their conversation had ended. Spock didn’t have any supporting numbers to explain the difference in these encounters, but he knew when one had occurred when he spent approximately 52.49% longer in meditation the following night.</p><p>* * *</p><p>Spock sat across from Lieutenant Uhura in the officers’ mess. Through the years, he and the communications officer had discovered a mutual fascination with intercultural music, and they had developed a close relationship through their long conversations comparing the rigidness of Vulcan tonal progression to the flow of Black American music from Earth’s early twentieth century, which was what they were currently discussing.</p><p>Uhura smiled and rested her chin on top of her clasped hands. “What you have just described to me sounds a lot like serialism in Earth’s music.”</p><p>Spock raised an eyebrow. “Which part?”</p><p>“Well, you were talking about the mathematical significance of space between pitches in Vulcan music, and that reminded me of an experimental form of Earth music called serialism. In serialism, a piece follows a specific melodic pattern that repeats, and repeating melodic fragments are usually paired with the same rhythmic patterns. I believe it was first developed in the early twentieth century.” She frowned. “Or was it the late twenty-first century? After Earth’s mass-globalization, many cultures began to borrow and copy from one another, so I get confused about which musical styles developed from where.”</p><p>“Fascinating. On what grounds is the melodic pattern determined?”</p><p>Uhura shrugged, her smile slipping easily over her lovely features. “I don’t know much about that. My area of interest was always in American classic blues.”</p><p>“Indeed. It is a genre that suits your vocal quality quite nicely.”</p><p>The compliment slid as easily off Spock’s tongue as the smile on Uhura’s lips. She blushed at the praise and thanked him.</p><p>The door to the mess swished open and in strolled the captain. Immediately, he stopped at the first table and patted the back of one of the security crewmembers seated. He leaned over to ask the crewmember something, but even Spock’s superior hearing couldn’t hear more than a tenor murmur.</p><p>“Mr. Spock?”</p><p>Spock started, but only slightly. It appeared that while he had been watching the captain, Uhura had been calling his name. He cleared his throat. “I apologize Miss Uhura, what were you saying?”</p><p>Uhura raised her delicate eyebrows. She turned over her shoulder and instantly recognized what had stolen Spock’s attention. She turned back to face him with a slow smile that had mischief tinged at the corners. “Quite all right, Mr. Spock. I was just asking how your latest composition was coming along. I’m always willing to listen to a partial piece if you’d like the opinion of an ear already familiar with your work.”</p><p>Spock was distracted by the captain rubbing the arm of the other crewmember at the first table. He snapped his focus back to Uhura.</p><p>“Ah—” Spock was about to thank the lieutenant for her kind offer and explain that he had not had much time for composing lately, when he was interrupted by a voice approaching them.</p><p>“Well, well, well, if it isn’t my favorite communications officer.” Kirk placed his hands on Uhura’s shoulders and squeezed.</p><p>Uhura tilted her head back and beamed up at him. “Hello Captain.”</p><p>He bent and kissed her cheek. “You haven’t been dragging my Chief Science Officer into your trouble, have you?”</p><p>Uhura’s eyes widened in an innocent expression. “Now Captain, you know if I’m ever involved in any trouble, surely it’s Mr. Spock’s fault.”</p><p>The captain laughed, patting Uhura’s shoulders again in his mirth. “Of course, Miss Uhura.” He walked around to Spock’s side of the table. “What kind of trouble have you been getting my finest communications lieutenant in today, Mr. Spock?”</p><p>Spock tore his gaze away from Kirk’s hands—open and relaxed, motionless at his sides—and up to his face. “There have been no instances of trouble in this room for the 43.66 minutes we have been sitting here.”</p><p>Kirk laughed again, and Uhura joined him. Philosophically, Spock had never fully understood what his human companions found so amusing in joking about potential instances of disaster. Privately though, it pleased him when his friends responded to his comments with these outright displays of joy. He found he especially liked the lines around the captain’s eyes when he smiled.</p><p>“Very well, Mr. Spock, make sure it stays that way.” Kirk smiled at him now, and if Spock didn’t have a witty reply ready, it was because he was too occupied in measuring the exact length of those laugh lines.</p><p>The captain excused himself with a final squeeze of Uhura’s shoulder. On his way out the door, he stopped at a table filled with new nurses to shake hands and ask how they were settling in on the <em>Enterprise</em>.</p><p>Uhura’s smile lingered on the captain as he made pleasant small talk with the nurses. She looked back at Spock and saw he was again watching Kirk. “I’ve always been impressed with the captain’s people skills. When I was first assigned to the <em>Enterprise</em>, I was afraid he would be arrogant because he became a captain so young, but really he’s one of the kindest men I’ve ever met.”</p><p>“Indeed,” Spock said, although if she had told him that the human body was made up of 60% chlorophyll instead of water, he probably would have responded the same.</p><p>“Nyota, there is—” Spock shifted in his seat “—a question I have been debating whether or not I should ask you.”</p><p>Uhura’s eyebrows raised in response to his use of her first name. “Am I correct in assuming this is a personal question, Spock?” Since she, too, dropped his formal title, Spock understood that she was willing to answer.</p><p>Still, he hesitated. “Perhaps, in a sense. Although it does not apply to you specifically, more concerning a peculiar aspect of human nature that I have been observing.”</p><p>“Well, I am a human myself, so maybe I can answer it for you.” She folded her hands on the table. “What are you curious about?”</p><p>“I have noticed that humans who are familiar with each other touch one another at an average frequency of 86.21% more than those with whom they are not familiar.”</p><p>“But of course. Humans are physical creatures, and studies have shown that physical contact between humans releases endorphins in our brains. Children who are held often in their infancy have shown improved mental development over children who are not held.” There was no judgement in her smile, only kindness, a trait of hers Spock had always admired and appreciated.</p><p>“I am aware of the biochemical significance. My curiosity centers more around why touch? Even adult humans frequently initiate physical contact in both their romantic and platonic relationships. As the human brain is already well-developed by the approximate age of twenty-five, what purpose does this have? Would not a simple conversation convey the intention of extended comradery?”</p><p>Uhura laughed and shook her head. “That I can’t really answer for you. I suppose it’s just that, well, touching someone you love makes you happy.”</p><p>“I find it inefficient to depend on engagement with another physical form for happiness.”</p><p>“That’s not what I meant.” She reached out, then paused over Spock’s hand, pressed flat on the table in front of him. “May I?”</p><p>Spock studied her, but as usual, found no trace of insincerity in her smooth face. He nodded.</p><p>Uhura placed her dark brown hand over his pale green one. Spock kept his mental shields up so he would not inadvertently intrude in her thoughts, but the touch was enough to send indications of her emotional state through to his synapses.</p><p>“I wouldn’t say we rely on touch for happiness, more like another’s touch can help us weather the trials of life. Nothing feels better after a bad day than a warm hug from someone you love.”</p><p>As she spoke, Spock allowed himself to bask in the fringes of her mind. She was content, peaceful. A pleasant tingle ghosted along his nervous system. He could sense her joy for her life, her wonder at the stars, and her love for the <em>Enterprise</em> and her crew. He could also sense her love for him, and if he were to describe it, he would liken it to the feel of the warm Vulcan sun on his skin, comforting and constant.</p><p>Of course, he didn’t need to touch her mind to know how she felt. Through his extended service in Starfleet, he thought himself rather skilled at reading humans’ emotional states, but Uhura wore her love for her friends and family as proudly as she wore her red Starfleet uniform.</p><p>Uhura rubbed her thumb lightly across the back of his hand before letting go. He assumed she did not know the significance of that action in Vulcan society. “I don’t think I need to tell you about the pleasures of touch, Spock. I think you already know.”</p><p>He noted the twinkle in her dark brown eyes, and reconsidered that perhaps she did know the exact significance of her actions.</p><p>“I will say that not all humans respond to touch in the same way, though. Some still prefer not to be touched even by people they know well. It’s up to the person themself to decide what they’re comfortable with.” Uhura rose from the table, but before she left, she leaned over to add a final comment in a low, conspiratory tone. “Our captain, however, expresses himself quite eagerly through touch, but I’m sure you know that, too.”</p><p>The corners of Uhura’s mouth turned up in that same mischievous smile as she walked away, and Spock knew his face was flushed. He should have suspected from her advanced affinity for languages that Nyota Uhura would be the only person on the <em>Enterprise</em> to consistently understand the true meaning of his words.</p><p>* * *</p><p>Three days later, Jim sat across from him at the 3D chess board in Spock’s quarters. Jim rubbed a tan hand over his chin as he eyed the board. He moved a piece from the second level to the first. “Check.”</p><p>He leaned back in his seat, his face split in a lazy grin. He folded his hands and rested them on his stomach as he waited for Spock’s responding move.</p><p>Spock frowned at the board, which showed on his face in the form of a more intense stare than his usual expression. “Most illogical, Jim. You have placed your queen in the direct path of my rook.” Spock moved the mentioned piece to capture Jim’s queen.</p><p>His opponent tilted his head, but he was not looking at the board. “Perhaps.”</p><p>Spock met his eyes. He did not think it possible for Jim’s smile to grow even wider.</p><p>“Perhaps it was a foolish, illogical move.” Jim picked up a bishop from the right moveable level and placed it adjacent to Spock’s rook. “Check.”</p><p>Spock raised an eyebrow. “Fascinating.”</p><p>Jim chuckled and reclined again. They settled into a comfortable silence as Spock contemplated his next move. Jim’s unorthodox tactics had once again made it difficult to predict what he was planning.</p><p>Before Spock could move a piece though, Jim spoke. “Spock, do you think we did the right thing today, in blowing up the VX28 vessel?”</p><p>Spock’s eyes darted to his friend and back to the chess board. “The ‘right thing’ is impossible to quantify; therefore, I do not believe it is worthwhile to ponder the correctness of our past actions.”</p><p>Jim’s laugh was soft and gentle, a brief expelling of air through his nose as he hummed in amusement. “Of course. But given all the possible outcomes—”</p><p>“Although the loss of the alien vessel is unfortunate since it deprives us of much-needed information on the Andromeda galaxy, the extremity of their hostility forced us to instigate their destruction.” Spock moved his king back a square.</p><p>Ignoring the action on the first level, Jim moved a pawn on the third. “But if there <em>were</em> a way to stop it, some way to get through to them—”</p><p>“Jim.” This time Spock searched for his friend’s eyes and held them. “It is illogical to wallow in the possibilities of events whose outcomes have already been decided. Your judgement on the bridge today was supported by the facts we had gathered from the design of the ship and the aliens’ refusal to accept our efforts to negotiate. Your intuition successfully guided you to the correct conclusion, and we destroyed the vessel before it could do further damage to our ship.” Spock advanced his other rook towards Jim’s king. “Check.”</p><p>Jim’s gaze bored into him. “You called me ‘illogical,’ but complimented me for following my gut in the same sentence.” The corners of his eyes crinkled.</p><p>All of Jim’s expressions were aesthetically pleasing, but Spock would never admit out loud to having a favorite. He surely would never hear the end of his “flagrant, human emotionalism” from Dr. McCoy.</p><p>“Though I am more reliant on the facts and equations of any situation, it would be arrogant of me to ignore the many times your ‘gut feelings,’ however primitive and gratuitous I may find them, have saved this ship and her crew.” He raised an eyebrow. “And I did not speak one sentence; I spoke three.”</p><p>Jim burst into true laughter. His fingers wiped at his scrunched eyes as he tried to control his heaving breaths. “Only you, Spock, could make a compliment sound so much like an insult.” He leaned forward and reached out his hand, aiming to rest it atop Spock’s forearm.</p><p>But then he stopped. He stared at his hand for 3.26 seconds, fingers hovering 7.84 centimeters over the fabric of Spock’s uniform.</p><p>He cleared his throat and retracted his hand. “Pardon me, Spock. Was it my turn?”</p><p>He moved a piece on the board, but Spock did not notice his move. He stared at the spot on his arm that Jim had been about to touch. When he looked up, Jim was still smiling, but the lines around his eyes were gone.</p><p>“Something the matter, Spock?”</p><p>Spock’s tongue felt hot and dry. Curious, as his room was 6.52 degrees cooler than he usually kept it to accomodate for Jim’s climate preferences.</p><p>After a pause (4.31 seconds, although it somehow felt longer), Spock asked, “Why do you do that?”</p><p>Jim’s smile faltered. “Well, you put me in check, so I moved—”</p><p>“I am not referring to the game.” Spock took a breath. His pulse was 8 beats higher than his average. “Why do you stop yourself before you touch me?”</p><p>Jim’s smile dropped completely. His eyes widened. If Spock were not preoccupied with reigning in his body’s inexplicable responses, he perhaps would have admired the flecks of gold the red light overhead revealed in Jim’s irises.</p><p>Shifting in his seat, Jim looked down at his hands, folded in his lap. “I’m sorry, Spock. I can’t help it sometimes. It’s a natural reaction for me. Natural like laughing at a joke, or sneezing at some pepper.” His thumbs twisted across each other, round and round in an agitated pattern. “Well, maybe it’s more a human thing. Not the pepper, I mean. I just—” He clenched his hands into fists on his knees and looked at Spock. “I know you don’t like to be touched though, so I—”</p><p>“What gave you the impression that I do not like to be touched?”</p><p>Jim’s jaw slackened. “You grew up on Vulcan. Your people have a strict code around physical contact and I . . .” He sagged in his chair, gaze dropping to the table. “I never meant to make you uncomfortable.”</p><p>Silence yawned between them, thick with a tension that had not been present previously.</p><p>“I . . .” Jim stood. He tugged at his shirt. One it was straightened, he tugged it again. “I should go. Goodnight, Mr. Spock.” Eyes down, he rushed towards the door.</p><p>“Jim.” Spock stood so abruptly he knocked his knees into the table, jostling the chess board. He barely registered the pieces rolling off the upper level though; his gaze was fixed on Jim’s back, frozen just before the door.</p><p>Spock swallowed. “It is true that our cultures differ along many lines. But Jim . . .” he swallowed again, trying and failing to slow his rapid heartbeat, “I have never felt uncomfortable around you.” He willed the shaking from his breath, but his voice still trembled. “Or your touch.”</p><p>Jim whipped around. He said nothing, only stared at Spock, his face open, and yet entirely unreadable. He rolled his shoulders back, putting on his captain’s bravado in image, but his voice was quiet. “So, what are you saying Spock?”</p><p>Spock did not take his eyes off him while he ran calculations, but how could he predict Jim’s reactions when he could not keep his own body under control? His pulse had increased another 14 beats per minute in the past 28.9 seconds, despite his desperate attempts at concentration. He abandoned computing the odds, and decided to voice the conclusions he had reached long before his conversation with Uhura.</p><p>“In the 3.29 years we have served together, I have had ample time to observe your behaviors and social interactions, both in professional and personal environments. I know how you use touch to communicate your familiarity and affection, and I have especially been privy to your interactions with the crew.” Spock folded his arms behind his back, relaxing into the familiar routine of compiling data and issuing a report to his captain, only this time, the data was about his captain.</p><p>“You are a brilliant starship captain, Jim, and an even better leader. In return, you have earned not only the respect, but the affection of your crew. This is supported by the evidence of their 98.73% positive responses to your touch.”</p><p>Spock dropped his gaze to his shoes. Having finished with the analytical portion of his findings, now came the more difficult task of communicating that which he has been unable to quantify. “As your First Officer since the day you stepped aboard the <em>Enterprise</em>, you have also earned my respect, and my friendship, yet you do not express yourself around me like you do around others closest to you. Therefore, I would like to assure you that I understand your instinctual desire to touch me. It is because I recognize your actions’ intentions that I am not offended by your touch, but rather I desire to be included in the rituals of physical contact you bestow upon your inner social circle.”</p><p>When Spock finished speaking, the room again fell into silence. Spock continued to stare at his shoes, waiting for his friend to say something. His shoulders curled further downwards as the silence sustained. Ten seconds, twenty seconds, twenty-five. He could not look at him, not now, not so terrified of the pity surely written across his face.</p><p>“Of course, if I have misevaluated the importance of our friendship, you must forgive me for my forwardness.” Spock blinked away the building compression in his sinuses. “Please disregard all that I have said, as I do not want you to feel forced—”</p><p>He was interrupted by a hand on his shoulder. “Spock.”</p><p>Humans had an average body temperature 4.22 degrees higher than Vulcans, but Spock’s skin felt like it <em>burned</em> under the hand pressed against his sleeve. He closed his eyes and leaned into the touch.</p><p>“Spock. Look at me.”</p><p>Spock obeyed. He raised his head and saw his favorite smile, the one that started in the center of Jim’s mouth and stretched across his face like a sunrise. The lines around his eyes were deeper than he had ever seen before, and the soft light shifting through his irises lit up an entire spectrum of brown and green and gold.</p><p>Slowly, Jim raised his other hand and placed it on Spock’s other shoulder. “I didn’t know that it bothered you so much. I was trying to be respectful of your boundaries, but I can see that in doing so, I unintentionally hurt you, and I’m sorry.” He rubbed downward until he was loosely gripping Spock’s biceps.</p><p>Spock felt every point of contact, from the press of his palms to the focused point of every finger. He did not require skin-to-skin contact to sense the outpouring of complete happiness that radiated from Jim. It was like the wave of an ocean—huge and swelling and pulling Spock under without warning and without hope of ever resurfacing, but he didn’t care. It was enough to be touched by him, deliberately, and to understand—no, to <em>feel</em> the depth of his emotions, and the love that poured out of his every touch.</p><p>Jim continued trailing his hands along his arms, and Spock sank deeper and deeper until his entire world narrowed down to Jim’s hands and Jim’s eyes and Jim’s voice murmuring, “Nothing is as important to me as our friendship. I promise I’ll do better about showing that to you, if that’s what you need. Whatever you need, I’ll do anything.”</p><p>Was this what it felt like to breathe? He couldn’t remember. Had it always felt like this?</p><p>“Thank you,” his voice came out as though from under gravel, “Jim.”</p><p>Jim smiled like he knew all the secrets of the universe and couldn’t wait to share them. “Of course, Spock.” He looked like he was glowing, but Spock didn’t trust any of his senses except the nerves singing under his skin where Jim’s hands lay.</p><p>They stood like that for a moment more; Spock did not deem it necessary to count the seconds that passed. Finally, Jim’s hands stilled, and then they dropped from Spock’s shoulders. The rest of the world swam back into focus.</p><p>Jim stepped backwards. “It’s late, and I need to make a few rounds before I retire for the night.”</p><p>“Yes,” Spock said, because he could think of nothing else. Then the rest of the evening rushed back to him. “What about our game?”</p><p>Jim glanced at the board. “It appears your check was a checkmate, Mr. Spock. When I moved my king, I didn’t notice your knight blocking the corner.” His following smile was not quite Spock’s favorite, but still one he liked very much—a playful lift of the corner of his mouth and a confident arch in his brow. He turned and exited Spock’s quarters.</p><p>Spock stared at the spot where he had last stood for 9.13 seconds (his sense of time now fully recovered). He looked at the chessboard. Despite his upheaval of the pieces, it appeared he did indeed have Jim’s king cornered by his rook and his knight, though he could not remember when or why he had moved it there.</p><p>Spock shook his head. Alone in his quarters, he did not suppress the smile that tugged on his lips. Tonight’s match had dropped Jim’s win record to 54.34%, although if Spock factored out all the times Jim let him win, his record remained at 83.97%. But it was not as if they kept score.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Thanks for reading! If you enjoyed, come check me out on <a href="https://www.tumblr.com/dashboard/blog/jamestfortitsoutkirk">tumblr</a> and we can talk about the queer subtext of touch in 1960s media :)</p></blockquote></div></div>
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